An Affair on the Orient Express
by TigerLily888
Summary: AU. A chance encounter 15 years ago changes the course of their lives.


**I want to dedicate this story to all my lovely ladies, tigereye77, longbourne22, saturdayslump, raffinit, ssaemilyhotchner, greengirl82, solveariddle, HGRHfan35, brandy and x-MJ-x. You mean so much to me. I love you all.**

**Happy New Year to you all, and also to my loyal readers. Without you, I won't be writing.**

**As always, do leave me a review if you can.**

* * *

The first time he sees her is in the lobby of the Raffles Hotel in Singapore. He is waiting for his hotel key card when he hears her voice next to him, low and richly melodious amid the quiet bustle of this famous hotel.

"Hello Siew Leng, any messages for me?"

"Oh, good afternoon Ms Prentiss. Just a moment please." As the young Chinese receptionist searches through the bundle of paper before her, Hotch turns to see what the possessor of that voice looks like.

She is not what he expects. Later, he admits to himself that it wasn't that he was expecting someone unattractive. Her voice alone conjures up images of whispered conversations and seductive sighs on a hot, tropical night. She is extremely attractive. Tall and slender, she draws the admiring gazes of the men and the envious glances of the women who are present. What he does not expect is her attire.

In contrast to the conservative apparel worn by most of the guests around her, she is dressed in brief running shorts. A sports tank top moulds to her torso. Sweat glistens on her shoulders and brow, and he is unable to stop his eyes from following the path a drop of perspiration takes as it travels down the side of her neck and down her chest. Suddenly realising what he has done, he jerks his eyes up to her face to find her looking with amusement at him. He flushes, feeling as though he has just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, when he notices that there is more than a trace of cynicism there as well, as if she has experienced his reaction to her all too often.

He suddenly feels the urge to apologise, and opens his mouth to do so, even though he is unsure of what he should say. But before he can voice his regret, the receptionist hands over a slip of paper to the brunette.

"Just one, Ms Prentiss. Did you have a nice run today?" she asks solicitously.

The woman smiles wryly as she looks up from the message. "I don't know about nice, but it was a good run. I think I'm finally getting used to the humidity."

"Just make sure you keep hydrated. I've made sure housekeeping has put extra bottles of water in your room."

"_Xie xie_, Siew Leng." With that she turns and move towards the direction of the elevators.

Hotch watches her go with some regret. He assumes that he will not see her again. Not that it would make any difference, she is way out of his league. He has been told that he was a gifted federal prosecutor, but when it comes to wooing the opposite sex, he would either be tongue-tied or stumble over his own tongue. A smooth talker he isn't.

He spends the rest of the day exploring the cosmopolitan city and taking in the Christmas decorations that adorns the streets and shopping precincts. That evening he orders room service and enjoys a movie in his room. When he falls asleep, the last image he holds is that of a dark-haired woman, her siren smile beckoning to him.

* * *

He is completely unprepared for their next meeting. Having just been shown his cabin on the famous Eastern and Oriental Express, he decides to familiarise himself with the other carriages and leaves his compartment. Just as he is shutting his door, a warm body collides into his. He automatically takes hold of her upper arms to steady them both.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I – "

Hotch looks down into a pair of startled black eyes.

"It's you."

"Yes," he replies simply. To be honest, he is too taken aback at the sight of her to think of anything sensible to say.

They stare at each other for a long moment. She blinks, and the spell is broken. She steps back and he is forced to release his hold on her.

"I'm sorry for bumping into you. I wasn't watching where I was going." She offers him a regretful smile.

"There's no need to apologise, it's fine." He pauses, then decides to forge ahead. "In fact, it's I that should apologise." Her eyebrows raise questioningly. "Yesterday, at the hotel reception. My actions were less than gentlemanly, and I am truly sorry for that."

Surprise flashes over her face. "I'd already forgotten about that, but thank you. Your apology is accepted." She smiles again, warmer this time.

His heart skips a beat. Come on, Hotchner. "I was wondering if uh ... you would allow me to buy you a drink?"

Her smile widens. "We've only just met and you're already planning to get me drunk?"

His mouth parts. Crap. " ! I was absolutely not planning to get you drunk." Smooth, Hotchner, real smooth.

She laughs then, exposing her perfect teeth. Was there anything about her that wasn't perfect? Even her slightly too thin nose appears adorable to him. Damn. This is bad. He has only known her for a minute. Maybe a minute and a half. A whole ninety seconds. It had taken him a whole day to form a crush on Lucie-May in first grade.

"I'm joking. Relax. A drink, huh? I don't know if that's such a good idea." She licks her lower lip uncertainly, and he has to force himself not to focus on that part of her face. That action has done more for his libido than watching any dirty movie could have done. Boy, does he really need to get out more.

"One drink. That's all." Please.

"All right. The Bar Car at seven?"

"I'll see you then." He fights the urge to pump a fist into the air. He really can't remember when he last asked a woman out.

She turns to go, then stops. "By the way, I'm Emily."

"I'm Aaron."

She smiles and he feels his heart beat faster. "It's nice to meet you, Aaron."

With a final look, she walks away, leaving him with staring after her with a mixture of nerves and excitement in the pit of his stomach. What has he gotten himself into?

* * *

The third time Hotch sees her, he almost doesn't recognise her. As a result of encountering some unexpected difficulty with his tie, he is a few minutes late to their meeting. His eyes rove over the guests in the Bar Car. It is busy, and he remembers that the Train Manager is hosting a welcome reception for the passengers. None of the glamorously clad women fit her description. Perhaps she is late, too. But she had struck him as someone who, like him, was always punctual. He tenses.

For there she is. She is seated at the bar, her back towards him. Her hair is twisted into an elegant knot, exposing the graceful line of her neck. Aside from a slip of material at the base of her neck, her back is bare from neck to waist, her pale, flawless skin almost luminescent even in the dim lighting. If she had been his, he would have walked up and ran a caressing hand over her exposed flesh, feeling the faint tremor his touch evokes.

But she wasn't, and he didn't. Although if wishes were horses...

She throws her head back and laugh, breaking his reverie and he takes a step towards her, before stopping still. Is he really about to approach this stunning beauty whom every man on board would have given their eye teeth to have a drink with? He isn't even sure why she had agreed to meeting him. It's not like he is someone whom GQ would call up to grace the cover of their magazine. Or was someone with charisma and charm. Insecurity and the fear of failing at another relationship made his feet leaden, imprisoning him at the end of the carriage.

He is ashamed to admit it, but he would have likely turned tail and ran if she had not at that precise moment, turned around and saw him. She smiles, and like every other time before, that smile thaws something in the frozen tundra of his heart. He forces himself to return her smile and walks up to her, berating himself for being a coward.

"Hello again. I've saved you a seat."

Hotch sits down next to her. "Thanks. I'm sorry I'm late, I got a little stuck with my tie."

"I see. I was wondering where you were. You seemed like the punctual type."

He has to smile at the way her words mirrors his earlier thoughts.

She cocks her head. "Your tie looks fine to me."

He flushes a little. "I had to get Dusit, the steward to help. I can't say I'm used to wearing a dinner jacket."

Emily looks him up and down. "Well, for someone who rarely wears a tux, you look rather good in it." Her midnight dark eyes are playful when they meet his.

Has she just flirted with him? Suddenly tongue-tied, he stares at her for a long moment, then blurts out, "You look good too." Then immediately feels like smacking his forehead. Yep, he is a remarkably uninspired idiot. She is definitely going to laugh him off the train.

But she does nothing of that sort. Instead she flashes him a pleased smile and replies, "Why, thank you. This is one of my favourite gowns."

"You look amazing." His eyes start to drift down the full-length, red halter-neck gown before he suddenly remembers what had happened yesterday. He jerks his eyes back up north of her neck. Not that looking at her face was any better, her red lips making him think of things no gentleman should think of. He is definitely not going to be on Santa's nice list this year.

"So...about that drink," she prompts gently, smiling when he blinks.

Focus Hotchner! "I'm sorry, what would you like?" He catches the bartender's eye.

"I'm going to go for the Shanghai Express."

He wonders what that is as he places his order. "Shanghai Express for the lady, and I'll have a scotch. Glenfiddich if you have it."

"Yes, sir."

"So are you here on vacation?" he asks, then groans inwardly when he realises what he has just uttered. Was anyone on the Orient Express for business?

"Yes, it's my only vacation this year. I was already in Singapore so I thought, why not. You?"

"Yeah. Although I have to admit that it was sort of forced upon me."

She raises her eyebrows. "A forced vacation? Do tell."

"I'm what you call a workaholic. My supervisor told me to go on vacation or else he'd bury me in paperwork so deep it'll end up being my actual grave."

She laughs, her eyes lighting up and dazzling him in the process. For some reason, he has the feeling that she seldom had a reason to indulge in humour.

"I can't believe you have to be threatened to take a vacation. So what, you decided to come to Asia and jump on a luxury train?"

"Uh … no, not really," he answers reluctantly, well aware of how his reply is going to sound. "My uh … supervisor paid for the vacation." Yep, it sounded exactly as weird as he has predicted.

But she doesn't blink an eye at that revelation. "Wow, lucky you." She takes a sip of the drink the fancy drink that the bartender has placed before her. "So, you hate paperwork … does that mean your work takes you out in the field then?"

"You could say that." He is deliberately being evasive. His job isn't the most glamorous in the world, in fact, some would, and have, called it downright creepy. He doesn't want to scare her off. For the first time, he wonders if he should lie about his occupation. He hasn't yet gotten a true sense of what she was like. The easygoing, open facade she projected was just that, a facade. He wondered what secrets she was hiding. Easy Hotchner, one thing at a time.

"Ooh, a mystery occupation. This is going to be fun. And short-lived." Both her tone and face is full of confidence.

There was no way she is going to be able to guess his job. Ninety-nine point five percent of people in Washington isn't aware his team existed, never mind the rest of the population. "All right, go."

"Hmm..." She regards him thoughtfully. "You're in law enforcement."

"What?" he blurts out, startled. How had she figured that out?

"Gun calluses on your thumb and middle finger. I don't think you're a cop, you think too much to be one. I can practically hear your brain ticking away while you're sitting there trying not to look at my chest."

She grins when he blushes. Damn, this woman was way too perceptive for her own good. Or his. Maybe he should run while he still could. "And I'm not being overwhelmed with testosterone, so I'm going to wager that you're not an ATF or DEA agent. Those guys are all cowboys." She tilts her head to the side. "FBI?"

He shakes his head in disbelief. "Okay, you're good. Now tell me what my job description actually entails," he challenges her.

"Okay, but first, tell me what you've figured out about me."

"All right." He picks up his scotch and drinks, feeling the familiar mellow warmth going down his throat. "You're single, had a wealthy upbringing and is completely at ease in most social situations you are thrown in. I'm guessing that you have a job that makes use of your facility with languages and your ability to be whomever you want to be. You appear to be openly friendly and unguarded, but every word you say and every move you make is carefully calculated." He finally allows his eyes to move down her beguiling body. His eyes pause for the briefest second on her right thigh before coming back up to meet her gaze. "And your profession is a dangerous one."

She takes a slow sip of her drink, her expression impassive. "And your reason for that conclusion?"

"The Ruger .38 Special that you currently have strapped to your right thigh." He keeps his voice low, certain that she does not want this particular topic to be overheard.

Aside from the barest tightening of her fingers around her glass, she gives nothing away. His admiration for her grows, even as alarm bells sound in his head. There is only one logical conclusion he can draw from the fact that an American woman is carrying a concealed weapon in a foreign country. He supposes there are other conclusions he can come to, but he has undergone the same basic training to recognise it in another person. It is only now that he is willing to admit that fact to himself.

She says nothing in response, merely finishes her drink. Hotch falls quiet, too, his heart sinking at this turn of events. What were the chances that he would fall for CIA operative while he was on vacation at the other side of the world? And now that he has more likely than not deduced her real occupation, she is going to be forced to end their association, whatever her feelings are. Not that he has managed to ascertain yet whether she is experiencing any of the attraction he so strongly feels.

So he is startled when she slides off the stool and stands, picking up a small black clutch and holding out her other hand to him. "Let's get out of here."

He doesn't allow himself any time to think. He throws down some notes on the bar and takes her hand. It is surprisingly soft. Their fingers entwine.

Hotch tries to catch her eyes, but she has already turned away and is walking towards the exit. Mutely, he allows her to lead him through one carriage, two, then three. She stops before a door, then releases his hand so that she can take her key out of her clutch and unlock the door. She steps inside, then waits wordlessly for him to follow her in. When he does so, she closes the door after him.

He stands, feeling uncomfortable and uncertain in the middle of the small compartment. What shall he say? What can he say? But he doesn't have time to think because she steps up to him and draws his head down to hers.

Her lips are soft and supple and taste of bourbon and citrus and amaretto. He kisses her tentatively at first, not wanting to spook her, even though she is the instigator. When her lips part, he increases the pressure, tasting more of her and feeling his blood heat. He places his hands on her waist, but doesn't hold her too tightly, so that she is free to step back at any time. As the kiss deepens, she slides her hands about his neck, holding him tight and pressing her body close to him.

His head is whirling and he is feeling dangerously close to picking her up and placing her on the ready-made bed, so he reluctantly breaks off their kiss. He has to be certain that she knows what she is doing.

Their eyes meet and to his wonderment, her face is no longer guarded. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright with such fierce passion that his breath catches in his throat. She stares at him, her breath coming fast.

"Are you sure?" He is amazed that he has managed to form a coherent sentence when he could have sworn that he had temporarily lost his ability to think or speak.

"Yes," she replies simply. She kisses him again. This time, they don't stop.

* * *

The first time is hot and wild and more intense than anything Emily has ever experienced in her life. She holds the man in her arms tightly as he shudders, trying to catch his breath. She doesn't care that his body is heavy on hers, making it hard for her to breathe.

It has been so long since she has made a meaningful connection with another human being. In her line of work, she can ill afford to have close friends, much less a lover. It would have been unfair to start a relationship when she is out of the country at least eight months out of the year. More importantly, she doesn't want to lie about who she really is. Or expose someone she loves to any danger, no matter how inconsequential. And so she remains single.

Sometimes though, the loneliness proves overwhelming. So when she sees the softness and warmth in his eyes, something in her yields and she says yes. It's just a drink, she tells herself. But then, he somehow discovers the truth about what she does, what she is, and it should ring warning bells, but all she feels is relief. Just for this small window of time, she doesn't have to pretend. She can just be herself.

Just Emily. In all her glorious imperfection. She doesn't care.

He pushes himself up onto his elbows and looks down at her, eyes darkly serious. Always so serious. She reaches up to smooth away the furrowed brow.

"You're the most perfect thing I have ever beheld," he says quietly.

"No," she whispers, shaking her head. Beheld. She had never heard anyone say that word. It was so old-fashioned, and yet it sounded so right coming from his lips. "I'm not perfect."

"Maybe not. But neither am I. In any case," a small smile appears, "is it so bad if I think you are perfect, in this moment of time?"

She can't help but smile back. "I suppose not."

He bends down and kisses her briefly before levering himself off her. She has to bite back a protest. It won't do to sound needy. He shifts until he is seated further down the bunk and lifts up her legs to rest them on his, then covers them both with a sheet. He glanced at his watch. "Are you hungry? We can still make it in time for dinner if we rush."

"We could," she answers slowly, sitting up and putting a hand on his chest. She gives him a sultry look. "Or we could just ..." she draws closer to him until her mouth is a scant inch from his, "... stay here and indulge in other more pleasurable activities."

"Great idea," he murmurs, his dimples flashing as he pulls her onto his lap. "Besides, eating is way too overrated."

"Totally overrated." She is still laughing when he covers her mouth with his.

* * *

Despite the bed barely fitting his tall frame, much less the both of them, they manage to catch snatches of sleep in between bouts of passion. What surprises him, though is how much time they spend talking. He is not a conversationalist by nature but she makes it easy. They talk about everything and yet nothing in particular. By unspoken consent, neither mentions the work they do, as if doing so would break the spell they are under.

Before they know it they are awakened by a knock on the door. The steward has come to retract the bed and change the compartment to its daytime configuration. Hotch is amused, and if he is honest with himself, filled with male pride at the blush on her cheeks when she asks the steward if he can do that later. It appears from the slightly embarrassed look in her eyes that she is unused to being seen in such an intimate setting with a man. It is doubtless inappropriate for him to feel this way in this day and age, but it gladdens him that she has made an exception for him.

The steward agrees, his face courteously impassive. He is probably used to seeing such antics on the train. He offers to bring them both a breakfast tray in the meantime, and when Hotch looks questioningly at her, she smiles and nods. Inwardly he is relieved, he is unsure where they stand in the harsh light of day. After the steward leaves, they stare at each other.

He breaks the silence first. "Are you sure you want me to stay? Because I can go if you like."

"Do you want to go?" she counters.

He is unable to read anything from her eyes. Her face, so expressive the night before, is almost blank. He knows she is protecting herself. He is doing that too. It will hurt less if he leaves before she asks him to. At least that is what he tells himself. But maybe it is time to take a chance. She is worth it. "No, I don't want to go." He looks intently at her, wanting her to see that he means what he says. "I'm enjoying your company very much. And I think you feel the same, don't you?" Holding his breath, he waits for her answer. He prays that his instincts are right. Surely he has not read her incorrectly.

She is quiet for a long time. Then she walks up to him until she is standing right next to the bed. He sits up, never taking his eyes from hers. Her eyes are solemn when she speaks. "Stay with me."

He has the craziest urge to say 'forever'. How is it possible for him to have fallen so hard so quickly? He takes her hand, the hand that has calluses in the same spots as his. "I'll stay as long as you'll have me."

She smiles, a little tentatively. "I was going to do some sightseeing in Kuala Lumpur today. Maybe we can do that together?"

"I'd like that."

Hotch goes back to his cabin to shower and change and after breakfast they arrive at the Kuala Lumpur Railway Station. They spend the morning taking a heritage walking tour where they visit buildings built during colonial times, enjoy local street food and wander through the Malay and Chinese shopping districts.

That night, at a resort high in the mountains, she invites him to her room where they order room service and watch An Affair to Remember, her favourite romantic movie, she tells him. That night is filled with passion and conversation and much laughter. He watches her as she sleeps, amazed that he has only known her for twenty-four hours when he can memorise every feature of her face, when he knows every gesture she makes better than his own.

When she wakes, it is in small increments. First, a frown, then a twitch of her nose, then a slow, luxuriant stretch before she finally opens her eyes. It is with no little delight that he feels when a smile lights up her face upon seeing him. He doesn't need to be told that he has fallen for her.

Deeply. Irretrievably.

"Good morning." He can't resist. Reaching over, he gives her a kiss. When he starts to lift his head, she stops him by cupping her hands around his face. The kiss is long and intimate and tender. By the time their lips part, their breathing had quickened.

She grins up at him. "Well, good morning to you too."

Her smile is infectious. "Did you sleep well?"

She nods. "I haven't slept so well in a long time. Thank you."

Hotch inclines his head. He had promised her last night that he would keep her safe. It had taken a long while, but the constant tension that she held within her had finally drained away.

"I don't know why, when we've only just met, but when I'm with you I just feel … safe. Like nothing in the world can hurt me." This time her smile was a sad. "But that's not true, is it?"

"I would never let anything hurt you."

"I know." Her eyes are melancholy as she gazed up at him. "But you can't always be there to protect me. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"You don't have to be alone. Let me take care of you, once in a while."

His heart breaks a little when she shakes her head. "I wish I could. But I can't. When I chose this life, I told myself that I wouldn't put anyone I cared about at risk."

He opens his mouth to protest. He can take care of himself. But she presses her fingers to his lips.

"Please don't. There's no future for us. And there's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. So can we just … let's just enjoy ourselves for the rest of the journey, okay?"

He clenches his jaw and stares at her, frustration filling him to bursting.

"Please, Aaron." The sound of his name makes him buckle. He has no defences against her. Even knowing the hurt that is to come, he has to agree. Because he cannot say goodbye. Not yet.

He forces himself to smile. "Sure."

He doesn't think it possible, but somehow, he does enjoy himself. She is funny and witty and incredibly intelligent. He finds himself telling her about his less than happy childhood and she too, shares with him her early life growing up as the daughter of a diplomat. He finds out that she is based in Washington and has to bite his tongue so that he doesn't ask her where she lives. To know that she is so close and yet completely out of his reach is torturous. How unkind fate is.

The next three days pass with lightning speed. They have given up any pretence of being strangers, and other passengers on the train clearly think that they are a couple. After the final cocktail reception and formal dinner, they return to Hotch's cabin. Turning back to her after hanging up his dinner jacket, he finds her staring out of the window. Outside, the full moon illuminates the rice fields and palm trees as the train weaves its way to Bangkok. Its final destination. And theirs.

He slips his arms around her waist and she leans back against his chest, putting her hands over his.

"I've had a wonderful time." Her voice is wistful. "I hope it was the same for you."

His chest feels like lead and he has to take a breath before he can answer. "I've never had a better vacation." He surprises himself by managing to sound almost casual.

She laughs softly. "I don't know if I should feel flattered when this is practically your only vacation in recent memory."

"You were definitely the highlight of the trip." There, he can carry off a light-hearted tone too.

"All part of the service," she replies cheerfully. But he can see her reflection in the window, and her smile falters. It is enough to give him courage for what he says next. He turns her around to face him. Her smile fades.

"Emily, I know you don't want me to say this, but I have to, or I will regret it for the rest of my life."

"Aaron, don't. You know what my answer is. It's hard enough as it is to say goodbye. Don't make it worse."

He opens his mouth to ask her to give him a chance. But the sheen of tears in her eyes stops him.

"I think it's best if I return to my cabin tonight."

"No. Don't." He takes hold of her hand. "Please."

When she looks uncertain, he quickly says, "I promise. I won't ask."

And he doesn't, because having her in his arms one last time is worth almost anything. They exchange very little words that night, allowing their bodies to speak for them. Their eyes never break contact as their bodies move together, and in that moment, he knows the truth. He can never let someone so precious as her go.

All too soon, their train arrives as Hua Lamphong Railstation, and Hotch finds himself on the platform, watching the woman he has fallen in love with walking away. They have already said their goodbyes on-board, neither wanting to prolong a painful farewell. She is almost out of sight when he suddenly realises that he cannot leave things as they are. And suddenly he knows what to do without breaking his promise.

So he runs after her and manages to catch her just before she steps into a taxi.

"Emily!"

She stops short, then slowly turns to face him. Her pale face and strained features send a shaft of pain through him. He would have done anything to spare her pain.

"Don't say anything," he says quickly, "just listen. Meet me again, in one year's time. I'll be waiting for you on top of the Empire State Building on December 31st at 10 o'clock. If you're not there, then I'll accept that you don't want to be with me and I will never try to contact you. But if you come … well," he cups her cheek with his hand, "I promise that I will do everything to make you the happiest person on earth. Because that's how I feel when I'm with you."

When she just stands there silent, he suddenly feels awkward and embarrassed. "I'm sorry. That was way too corny wasn't it? I told you I'm not very good with this sort of – "

"No, you were perfect," she says. She takes a deep breath. "So. The Empire State Building huh?"

He feels his cheeks heat. "Yeah, apparently I haven't got an original thought in my head. Will you think about it?" _Please._

"Yes. I have to go." She turns her head and presses a quick kiss into his palm. And then she is gone.

He stands there, wondering if that is the last time he is ever going to see her.

* * *

_9.55 p.m., December 31st, one year later …_

Emily stamps her feet to stave off the cold as she gazes out onto the Manhattan skyline. It is still as awe-inspiring as she remembered. No one is more surprised than she that she is here. For a long time she did not think that she could give up her job. It was something she took pride in, something she was eminently suitable for. But then she is almost killed while she is in Istanbul, and as she lays in her hospital bed, she realises that by keeping everyone at an arm's length, she has made herself completely alone.

Not one day has passed when she hasn't thought about him. The way his touch had made her feel so cherished, loved even. As the months pass, she finds herself longing more and more for him. So much so that some days, it was almost a physical pain that only being with him could assuage. It was laughable that she, the modern, independent female, would admit that her life was meaningless without a man in it. Except that he wasn't just any man. He was the only man that knew the real her.

A man who was not where he promised he would be.

She frowns, and checks her wristwatch. 10:12. He must be running late.

10:25. Maybe he's caught in a traffic jam. It is New Year's Eve after all. In hindsight, not the best of nights to meet. Too late to change that now.

10:43. It is cold, and getting colder. She tells herself that she will just wait another fifteen minutes. The crowd swells.

11:17. Her hands are numb inside her leather gloves. Just another ten minutes. Surely he hasn't forgotten.

11.35. What if he has been hurt? Perhaps he couldn't come. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to stay warm. The observation deck was at full capacity with a crowd waiting for the new year.

11.47. Her heart is as frozen as the ice on handrails. He must have changed his mind. Funny how that possibility had never occurred to her. He had seemed so sure of himself. Of the fact that they would have a future.

Midnight. A new year. Amid the loud cheering around her, she feels the loneliest she has ever been.

* * *

It takes almost an hour to reach her hotel, which is a mere six blocks away. She is angry with herself for thinking that she could ever have had a relationship with someone she had only known for a mere six days, a whole year ago. For trusting him. But no matter how angry she feels, she cannot rid herself of the niggling feeling that something had prevented him from meeting her.

She freezes when she catches sight of him standing next to the door to her room. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He's here. He's found her.

And just like that, the anger disappears like it had never been there. The smile that appears on his face was that of a man who had found that one thing he had been searching for all his life. As if she is his holy grail.

They walk towards each other, slowly at first, and then she is running to him. Her love. Her life. His arms hold her tightly and she buries her face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave and him. He murmurs something and it takes her a moment to decipher.

My Emily.

She looks up at his dear, dear face. Her breath catches. For it is only then that she sees the ugly line of stitches near his hairline, and the dried blood on his shirt.

"What happened?" She reaches up and cups his face, eyes frantically searching for other injuries. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He looks deeply into her eyes. "I'm so very, very sorry I didn't make it to our meeting. I swear to you that I did everything in my power to come. I even took the day off to make sure that nothing would get in the way. But there was a hostage situation down town and – "

"You were called into a hostage negotiation?" She strokes the hair at his temple.

"No. If I had been, I would have declined." He smiled ruefully. "_I_ was one of the hostages."

"What?" she cried out, startled. "At a bank?"

He nodded. "I went in to get some money this morning and in came three men with assault rifles. They refused to cooperate so finally another guy and I took them down." He gestured to his forehead. "This was for speaking out and asking them to let the women and children go."

She shakes her head, but smiles. "You just can't help but play the hero, huh?"

"I wasn't the hero tonight, standing you up. I'm so sorry," he says again, regret creasing his brow.

"It doesn't matter. And I'm not angry." She chuckles. "Well, not anymore."

"Thank God for that." His hands tighten around her. "I've missed you," he says quietly.

She knows. She has felt the same emptiness. "I've missed you too."

"I wasn't sure you would come."

"Neither was I, until four days ago. I quit my job."

He exhales sharply. "Wow." He looks searchingly at her. "Are you sure? I mean, that is wonderful, but are you sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything my entire life." It is true. The adoring look in his eyes tells her that she has made the right choice. "So, what's next?"

He smiles. "Well, I kiss you and then we live happily ever after. How does that sound?"

She grins back at him. "It sounds perfect."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this little interlude. A very happy new year to you all once again. **


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